Addressing Our Mother: The Dragonborn
by Don'tEvenHaveAGun
Summary: Told from Lucia's perspective about her nameless Mother: The Dragonborn.


**Addressing Our Mother: _The Dragonborn_**

**_From Lucia's Perspective _**

Where would me and Sofie be if it wasn't for our Mother? To many she was the Dragonborn, but to us she was much more than Tamriel's savior; she was a hopeless romantic that enjoyed the simple nature of passion and travel and adventure. Though as fame grew so did the curse of rumor that spread like snow across the Tundra. _"Murderer"_ and _"Witch"_ was thrown into the equation, and being of her litter of _"Bastard"_ daughters we were also fitted with such names.

Her race was different to mine, but to Sofie she understood such culture as Nordic beauty and poetic justice of social delight among the crowd of Skyrim. I, an Imperial girl knew nothing about their harsh tongue. Her accent enriched with Skyrim's history and how she dripped my name from her tongue, _**"Lucia."** _It would leave me shy, and babble my words to my mother when she kissed my forehead softly, whispering, dreaming dreams that every child shared with their parent: _Happiness._

_-x-_

My Mother's hair was ash-blonde, smothered and hinted in golden-sun. Eyes' as blue as Icebergs that floated among the Sea of Ghosts. With pure envy I'd watch my Mother, follow her everywhere in Whiterun and if I could I would follow her into battle, though dreams such as those did jolt my Mother with a rise of pure terror. When I purposed of what I wanted to be, when I hit maiden age, her features grew paler than snow, her lips quivered, _**"Never."** _For when I grew up I wanted to be just like her, follow into her footsteps.

_-x-_

Battle. I wanted to join the war my mother fought; I was only ten years old when she forbade me to even leave the house, or Lydia's side in that matter. As Sofie clung to Lydia's side in terror, crying, and begging mother by name, I could only stare out from ash smothered glass of the window, flickering blossoms of smeared russet that blazed from man-made fires. Mother stood among us all. Stepping to side-to-side, adjusting her feet among solid surface, she'd watch us with a proud smile. **"Forget." **She mumbled the word at first, to only make herself more clear among us all, "Never forget this war, our people, our _home._" Our door banged with yells. I could only move from my spot, running across wooden-floors and to latch my arms around her waist. Though, my Mother was stronger than that, stronger than any man or woman or even a giant at its best. There was even more banging, this time it sounded and rang with revenge, with a slur of words I could only hear my Mother's slow breathing from where I pressed my head from under her chest, and the slow hand that brushed down my back. I'd tell her not to leave me or Sofie alone, like she promised. Though like most promises she blanketed it with a subtle white lie. "I'll be fine." She'd unlatched me from her hip, and threw open the door to the sea of men. They proclaimed to set her head upon a pike, to degraded her in a horrific way, to dishonor her among her family. Smugly, mother closed the door to our home; armed with only her great-sword, made from the teeth of dragons. In that certain web of memory, towards the end of liberation, I only remember my Mother told us that we were not allowed outside, nor to stare out the window too long for she'd fear we see something that we would certainly not like.

_-x-_

I recalled my Mother's weak nature in the most fondest way. There was this Imperial man that would always knock at our door. This man would leave her flowers, books, and ingredients that she needed from time-to-time. I could even remember in one occasion that he sought me and my older sister out in the market place in Whiterun, asking what my Mother's favorite flower, or an author of a book. Dumbfounded, and giddy to this older, yet attractive man we declared we'd help his obsession over our Mother, and in return he promised us sweetrolls and dolls. I told him she loved Nightshade, it's what she'd bring to Grandfather's grave every week, and it was almost religious of her offering. So he'd started bringing her Nightshade, leaving the flowers upon our porch step. When she started reviving the gift of the purple, withered flower, she'd only gaze with sadden eyes. Eyes of lulling sea, she'd clutch the flower to her dress, pulling petals in spare time. _Our plan was backfiring. _Though it came to one day that he grew the courage to meet with our Mother in the same market place, asking for her hand in front of everyone. **"I.." **Mother muttered; me and Sofie smiled behind her, as Marcurio, now our Father admitted to the Nightshades and our mischief nature to help our mother wed.

_-x-_

I've become more curious. Mother was now round with child, her hand resting among her swollen stomach, she glowed with a certain beauty. She was stirring the pot, idly staring off into space. Though, the entire family knew she missed adventure, but was now home bound due to the health of new life. Father sat in the chair across from her, eyes narrowed into a book, squinting from the dim-lit that the house let off; Sofie was brushing papa's hair with the wooden comb, trailing down knots of raven.

Since marriage, Mother and Father hardly fought; though it was more in the case that she was sick of staying inside all the time, Father in retort said she was being childish and recommended to me and Sofie that we'd walk around with her in the market place. We could tell it broke our Mother's heart, and we could even hear her cry at night knowing that she could not leave the city walls over Father's paranoia.

Father was not a mean man, not at all, we've grown to love him so much.

Today was different, it was quiet in the house. So, I decided to ask a question that would cause everyone to raise their heads. My cheeks rose with such embarrassment, but I've always been so sheltered from sin. "How are babies made Mama?"

With Papa smiling up from his book, my Mother sat the ladle in the pot down, combing her blonde hair back that draped over her shoulders. She'd proclaim with a simple smile, and laughed, **"Love."**

With months passed, my brother was born. With half-breed of two cultures, and a stubble of raven, short hair he was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. His name was Giermund in honor of our Grandfather.

_-x-_

**"You."** She'd smiled weakly, surrounded by all her children in the comfort of her own home, "You are the most beautiful creation." She'd say over and over and over. Weakly she held my sister's newborn in her arms, brushing back the color of lovely red from the infant's soft head.

It was dreadfully quiet, not the type of quiet that the family liked. "Mother.." Sofie tried to say something, but was held back by her own goodwill. We all knew Mother was not the same, even Father knew that something was amiss in her sickness; he'd run his hand through his salt-and-pepper colored hair out of impulsive, he was on edge to every soft sound or intake of breath.

She was dying.

It drew sickness in my gut knowing that Mother was the strongest person in the world and the only thing to betray her was herself. It was her plague, it was her downfall, and it will be her damned demise. She fretted nothing, nor did she speak of fear in the claiming of death. _I wanted to throw up._

She handed her Granddaughter back to Sofie, and Father slipped his hand back into Mother's. "I do enjoy visits. You know that right? But-" She'd pause, finding no smile in her darkened room, the windows closed, "How can I enjoy such a visit when none of my children smile in their Mother's health?"

"Health?" Giermund spoke bitterly, "Mother, how can we smile? When you are.." Father shot Giermund such a look, but mother brushed it off.

"You should smile, always smile. Never know when it's going to be your last. Aye, time has forsaken the best. No king lives forever, nor do flowers in the Winter. My dearest loves, and gathered dears, time is a man's folly." It was me to throw myself upon my Mother's bed, gripping her free hand, stroking lovingly across her back hand. Through struggled tears, I was the first to smile, "I love you Mother. I love you so much."

She replied to me, in a sweet lullaby of her accent, **"Lucia, never forget I love you."**

**-x- **

I stand with my brother, and sister with all their children, my Father alone. They berried her next to Grandfather, it is what she wished for. There were tears, tears of many across Skyrim. They wanted to bask in her glory, glory that she took with her to death. These people, many people of different races came to see my Mother, they spoke of stories that I only wished to relive in my Mother's name. They sang songs. They drank in her name, a mug raised high; tears striking down redden cheeks.

I, however, did not cry. I've cried enough, and I've cried too much.

Out of Giermund and Sofie I was the one to walk in Mother's footsteps, wearing her armor, wielding her blade in her honor. I have no children, nor did I ever marry. I wished to live free among the others, to leave city walls, to climb the mountains, to raise children that are not mine, to save a life.

I carry on my Mother's hopes and dreams and spirit; they all belong to me.

With Mother's passing, Father was soon to fall victim to the same tragic spell of life. He too, was berried next to Mother.

Life has taught me beauty, and beauty alone.


End file.
